Solace
by Jessa4865
Summary: A pre-ep for Pursuit


Solace  
Jezyk  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Cross my heart.

SPOILER WARNING: Based on my own interpretation of the clips & spoilers released from Pursuit. This is what I'd love to see, though I know it's not going to happen. Anyway, if you don't want to be spoiled, turn back now (or wait till Wednesday!).

He was running as fast as his legs could carry him and still, it wasn't fast enough.

Olivia's last radio call had been frantic. And then a cold, terrifying silence had followed that scared the shit out of him.

He tore through the building not even sure where he was going. Olivia had only indicated that she was on the second floor before she'd stopped answering. The odd echo in her voice had made it sound like she was in a bathroom, but in a large building, there was sure to be more than one.

The bloody smears on the walls, however, gave Elliot a path to follow.

He shoved through the door of the ladies room, his gun at the ready, afraid of what he would find.

Even after a long career as a cop, he wasn't prepared. No one was ever prepared to see someone they knew lying dead on the floor. His training kicked in, forcing back his instinctive revulsion at the sight of Sonya's bloodied body, feeling along her neck for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find.

There was nothing he could do for her.

He called it in, using his radio the way he wished his partner had, alerting their backup as to the situation.

His partner. Fuck.

His heart was racing once again as he left the bathroom, sprinting down the halls, frantically seeking Olivia. Sonya had been her friend. Sonya had reminded her of her mother, Olivia had confided in him once. Olivia would not be ok, not with Sonya's death, not with the brutal way in which she'd been murdered, certainly not to be the first one to discover the scene without even the kindness of someone breaking the news gently.

Earlier, he'd been afraid of what could have happened to Olivia. But now that he knew what she'd found, he was beyond frightened. He had to get to her. He had to be there for her. After losing Calvin, losing Sonya would cut her deeply. And Olivia was hardly on steady ground emotionally.

He shoved through another pair of doors, his heart nearly stopping at the sight that greeted him.

Olivia was wandering aimlessly through the empty hallway, an expression of utter devastation on her face. Her eyes moved up, belatedly responding to the racket he'd made crashing through the door.

Her face crumbled, her lips turning down, her voice choking around a sob. "El." Her arms opened to him, even though her feet had stopped moving. She was just standing there. Looking at him. Begging him to hold her.

He couldn't deny her.

He never could.

Closing the distance in three long strides, he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight enough that she would feel his embrace through the layers she was wearing. Her arms curled around his shoulders, her face dropping, her whole body slumping into him as she began to sob.

There was nothing he could say. Not then, not there. No words would make a difference anyway. So he did the only thing he could, the only thing she would understand right then. He held her. One of his arms stayed behind her shoulders, the other reaching under her coat, finding her waist and pulling her against him.

Slowly the hand that was around her shoulders snaked up to cup the back of her head. "Shhhh, it's ok, baby."

She shook her head against him, her body sagging further until he knew he was the only reason she was still on her feet.

"I'm here, Liv. I'm here." It was all he could think to say. Because she was right. It wasn't ok. Her friend was dead. She'd lost yet another person that mattered to her. He was all she had left. He hoped that his words would reassure her that at the very least he wasn't going to leave her.

Her arms tightened as she tried to press herself closer, her face turning into his neck where he could feel her hot tears against his skin. She sobbed harder.

His hand moved through her hair, lifting her face up, allowing him to press his lips against her temple. "Shhh, baby, shhhh."

What the hell else could he do besides hold her?

He looked at her, at the tears running down her face, his heart breaking at the sight of her in so much pain. She was staring back at him, silently pleading with him to do something, anything, to make it stop.

Without an ounce of forethought, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth lightly against hers.

The sound of a familiar throat clearing uncomfortably called his attention away from Olivia's suddenly wide, confused eyes. Of course she was confused. He'd once again neglected to mention his disaster of a marriage was ending. He hadn't known how to verbalize to her his certainty that Eli wasn't his son. There hadn't seemed to be time to tell her. Not an appropriate one.

Not that kissing her had exactly been appropriate.

Not with the way Fin was staring at his shoes in the doorway.

"Fuck off, Fin," he snapped, hating the man for having the audacity to intrude on the first kiss Elliot had ever shared with his partner.

"Just wanted to let you know we got the guy. He tried to get out the fire door."

Elliot's heart flipped in his chest as he realized his mistake.

Motherfucker. He could have damn near gotten both of them killed. Olivia had been distraught; she couldn't have been expected to think clearly in that situation. But Elliot hadn't been. He'd been worried about Olivia, but he should have fucking remembered there was a god-damned serial killer who'd just murdered a fucking ADA in the building with them.

And he'd been busy hugging his partner.

Fuck.

If Fin told anyone, his ass was grass.

He swallowed hard, not quite able to make eye contact with the other man after he'd screwed up so royally. Luckily his plan of groveling to save Olivia's career if not his own was derailed when Olivia wailed while fresh batch of tears escaped her closed eyes. "I need to get her out of here." Elliot knew that though there was no love lost between himself and Fin, Fin respected Olivia.

Fin nodded, his face pinched as he looked over his shoulder. "I'll cover for you." He pointed past Olivia, down the darkened hallway. "That side of the building is clear. You should be able to duck out."

"Thanks." He waited for Fin to disappear back through the doors before he loosened his hold on Olivia.

She wouldn't release him though, her fingers gripping tightly against his coat to fight his attempt to distance them. "No, please."

He moved his hand to her cheek, holding her eyes so she would understand his intention even if she was too upset to hear his words. "I'm taking you home. I won't leave you."

Then he took her hand firmly in his and led her away.

Olivia didn't say another word. Not during the drive to her building. Not during the walk to her apartment. Not during the pat down Elliot gave her when his request for her keys was met with a blank stare.

After opening the door, he pulled her inside, his hand still gripping hers. It took him a few minutes of fumbling to find the light switch in the darkness. He hadn't realized it had gotten so late. It had been light when he'd gone running after Olivia. Cases like this one, foot chases, anything that really got the emotions going, they made Elliot lose track of time. He glanced at Olivia as he shut and locked the door, knowing she was so out of it that she probably didn't realize it was dark. Hell, she probably didn't know what day it was.

But she did know he was there, was desperate not to lose contact with him, and that reassured him. Not that he wanted to see her so distressed, but that she was reaching for him. He was glad to see they had finally reached the point in their relationship where they could reach for each other rather than running away to hide. Fuck, it had taken thirteen years, but he wasn't going to knock it. He knew it took Olivia a hell of a lot to open up to anyone. He knew she wouldn't have revealed her upset if he hadn't been there to help her. She would have faked her way through until she could fall apart in private.

It touched him to see that she trusted him so much.

Turning to face her, he let go of her hand, assuring her with his proximity that he wasn't going anywhere. He worked the buttons on her coat and then pushed the heavy wool down her shoulders. It dropped to the floor as his hands moved to unwrap her scarf. He did the same with his own coat, leaving them abandoned in a heap by the door.

He reached for her hand again, bringing her with him to the kitchen. He was thankful that her sobbing had stopped, but he didn't like the way she just stood there quietly waiting for him to tell her what to do with herself. He didn't know which option was better, but he had an idea of how to help. For that evening anyhow.

There was vodka in the freezer, a nearly full bottle, and he was glad. Without hard liquor, his plan would have fallen flat. He pulled a tumbler out of one of the cabinet, filling it with a shot. He stepped closer to her, crowding into her personal space, one of his hands at her waist, his other holding the drink between them.

"Here, have this."

She shook her head weakly.

"Drink it, Liv." He lifted her hand to the glass, forcing her palm around it with his own.

"I don't want it." He knew she didn't. But she didn't know what she wanted. And she didn't know what was good for her either. Not at that moment.

He moved it closer to her mouth, his hand still over hers. "It'll help you sleep."

Her lips quivered, but mercifully, the tears didn't come. "I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight."

"Trust me." He touched the glass to her lips, watching as she acquiesced to his insistence, letting the icy liquid fill her mouth.

She coughed a bit, but swallowed the shot down. Her eyes closed and he watched, seeing the way her cheeks blushed from the heat burning its way into her belly.

He poured another shot, immediately bringing it to her mouth. Her eyes met his, questioning. "Drink it."

Again, she let him tip the alcohol into her mouth. She swallowed it down, blinking as tears of another kind formed in her eyes.

He repeated his actions, bringing the glass to her lips a third time.

She moved her head back, though not bothering to pull her body away from his. "No, El-"

"Last one. Promise." He looked at her, seeing her hesitation, and understood that he needed to explain himself. "I can't fix what happened today, Liv. But I can help you forget about it. Just for tonight. Tomorrow it's going to sink in, but tonight you can forget."

She held his eyes as she nodded, actually holding the glass on her own to pour back the third shot. She only got half of it down before she came up sputtering, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "No more," she choked out between coughs.

He nodded, taking the glass from her and downing the rest of the shot himself.

A little liquid courage never hurt anyone.

Setting the tumbler on the counter, he screwed the cap back on the vodka. He had no intention of getting her completely drunk. He knew, with the help of a few drinks, she could let the pain recede enough to lie down and sleep. It wasn't a permanent cure, but there weren't any when someone died. There was only putting one foot in front of the other until it didn't hurt quite so bad.

His eyes moved back to meet hers and what he saw took his breath away. There was his partner, the strongest, most self-assured woman he'd ever met, staring helplessly at him. She didn't know what to do; she didn't know how to help herself. She'd turned to him, her last independent act had been reaching out to him in that hallway; he'd been running the show since then. And she continued to wait for his direction, her eyes red-rimmed and trusting, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol coursing through her veins, her trust in him never more obvious.

He didn't even know what he was doing when he reached for her face. His hands seemed to move over her cheeks of their own volition, his fingers sweeping over the soft skin. His thumbs moved to brush across her lips, feeling the wetness remaining from her last drink.

He moved toward her, unable to stop himself, unsure he wanted to. His lips touched hers lightly, hesitantly, waiting to be rebuffed, fearing she'd assume his great plan had been to get her drunk and into bed. No, he'd intended to get her buzzed enough from the vodka to relax and sleep.

In a flash, however, his uncertainty disappeared. His mouth moved with purpose, his lips opening over hers, his tongue encouraging hers to do the same.

She responded instantly, her mouth falling open, letting him taste her, taste the vodka on her tongue. He wasn't a poet. He wasn't a brilliant wordsmith. He didn't know how to tell her what he felt. He couldn't think of any words that would convey his love for her. He let his body speak for him instead, cradling her close to him, pressing against her from head to toe, making love to her with his lips.

It wasn't lust. It wasn't a seduction. He had no interest whatsoever of consummating their relationship that night. Not while she was in shock. Not while she was grieving. Not while she was in any way intoxicated.

It was pure love. Love was all he had to give her; it was all he could do for her.

And so he stood there, pouring all his love and concern and tenderness and worry into that kiss, feeling unashamed to be so bare and open in front of her. But there was no reason to be anxious about the way he was opening himself to her, not when she was so receptive to his touch as to reveal that she loved him back with every bit as much intensity.

He stayed there, holding her, kissing her, feeling no desire to do anything but make out with her like they were two kids.

But as his tongue danced with hers, he felt the way her body sagged, the way her strength was fading. She'd barely been standing since she'd seen Sonya and while the adrenaline rush from his unexpected advances had appeared to give her the ability to stand for a few more minutes, there was only so much she was physically capable of by then. The three shots in rapid succession also seemed to be fully hitting her, leaving her to sway when she tried to stand on her own.

Reluctantly, his mouth separated from hers, loving the sight she presented as he did so, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her lips wet, waiting for him to come back.

God he wanted to.

He'd swear he was some kind of saint in that moment, finding the strength somewhere in his body to resist the urge to kiss her again.

He smoothed her hair back as he pulled away, trying to reassure her that he still had no intention of leaving her.

Her eyes finally opened, confusion, shock, love, fear – everything he knew she was feeling vying for a position on her face, leaving her looking so young and vulnerable that he wanted to scoop her up into his arms and never, ever let go of her. Instead he stepped back, pulling her against his side as he walked back toward the living room. He didn't explain himself as he steered her into the bedroom. He didn't expect that he needed to.

Not bothering with the light, he guided her to the bed, supporting most of her weight as he pulled back the covers. Once she was seated, he squatted in front of her, reaching for her right ankle and pulling it forward to unzip and remove her boot. He repeated his actions with her left leg before he stood up. She simply watched him, her pupils wide in the low light that bled in front the living room.

He reached her belt, unhooking it and working it free of her pants.

Still her eyes remained on him, either unable or unwilling to stop him.

Not wanting her to find any fault with his actions, not wanting to give her any reason to doubt his integrity towards her, he decided to let her sleep in the slacks and sweater she was wearing. With one hand on the back of her head and the other gently lifting her legs, he urged her to lie down. He settled her head on the pillow, then moved to tuck her feet under the blanket. Pulling the white spread up over her, he smiled at her, once again trying to reassure her.

But he saw the fear in her eyes as he stood up.

Saw it before he felt her hand grab his.

"Please."

He didn't know what she wanted. He didn't think she did either.

He just knew he couldn't leave her.

Nodding at her, he sat down to remove his own shoes. His belt, suit coat, and tie fell in a messy pile. It was only when he realized he'd have to face working in the morning, deal with a boss who would undoubtedly have caught onto whatever bullshit Fin had fed him by then and be quite pissed off, that he decided a wrinkled shirt he'd slept in would only make matters worse. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, draping it over the door handle to keep it from looking too messy. He picked up his jacket as well and hung it over top. He'd just have to hope no one noticed his pants.

Then he returned to Olivia's side, lifting the covers to slide in beside her. She shifted over slightly, just barely enough for him to fit without falling off the side. As his head dropped onto the pillow, she rolled toward him, curling her arm around his abdomen, dropping her leg between his.

It felt so natural to comb his fingers through her hair, to feel her body mold against his, to close his eyes with the heady scent of Olivia surrounding him.

He turned his head, letting his lips brush across her forehead, loving the image of her head resting on his shoulder, the feel of her breath falling against his skin.

He had to say it, just in case the morning erased her memories of the way he'd cared for her, of how they'd wound up in her bed together, of how they'd kissed in those moments of pure honesty.

He had to say it, just in case he lost his nerve.

"I love you, Olivia."

Her arm tightened around him, the only indication she gave of having heard him. And that was ok. There would be time for that. They'd already reached an unprecedented level of intimacy that night and she hadn't pushed him away. She hadn't refused him or run away. It was enough for him, for the time being.

They could talk about the rest later.


End file.
